User blog comment:Biggren/The Northern March Original/@comment-3135907-20130628155739/@comment-3135907-20150510224322

Feffle breathes a long sigh of relief once they reach a shabby copse. Sitting with his back against a gnarly crack willow, the runner begins tearing up some ramsons and dandelions and jams them in his mouth, munching with utter ecstasy on the sparse vegetation.